made the mistake of erasing your number,
didn't know who you were
when i picked up.
call it lonely, call it curious,
call it fate—
never thought i'd hear your voice again,
especially not saying my name like that.
what our mouths say is not
what is really happening here:
"why did you call"
is really, are you still thinking about me?
"what are you doing right now"
is really, did you replace me yet?
you've got me thinking now
about all those nights we spent just like this,
clinging to phones and voices
that were too far away,
watching the hours tick by.
i have given you hours of my life,
days and weekends and years
and it all comes down to this night:
weeks after the fight,
this is some kind of return to the emotions
that used to keep me safe.
i am not safe any more,
and i embrace that with open arms
and open bottles and car windows down
on the highway at 4am.
but here's your voice again
on the other end of the line—
i cannot listen, i need to drink.
self-destruction can be so delicate.